When A Demon Meets A Dark Lord
by MistyNocturne
Summary: Lelouch vi Britannia. Tom Marvolo Riddle. So similar, and yet so different. When a certain bored Master of Death decides to meddle with history, Lelouch is deaged to ten and pulled into an unknown world upon his death. What happens when the Demon Emperor unintentionally befriends the young Dark Lord? Who is the strange boy with green eyes that follows them around? WW2. Death!Harry


**When A Demon Meets A Dark Lord**

 **Chapter 1**

 **.※.※.※.**

They are both born in the harsh winds of winter, in December.

Him, at the beginning of the month. The other boy, at the close of it.

He wonders if that's the reason why they're so similar. The reason why they've _both_ grown to be so frosty and unrelenting towards the world.

And yet.

They cannot be anymore different.

 **.※.**

A man in a white coat greets him as he wakes.

"Oh, lovely! You're awake."

It makes no sense. He should be _dead_.

"Are you alright?"

He claws at his chest in a frenzy, pulling up a shirt he doesn't even remember putting on to better inspect the area.

There is no blood.

There is no _sword wound._

He looks back up to the man, who's wearing an increasingly worried frown.

"What happened? _Where am I?_ "

He immediately notes how high-pitched his voice sounds. Despite his current state of distress, his voice has no reason to… He suddenly notices how his legs have shrunk. Doubt begins to creep into his mind.

No. _It can't be…_

The man seems to think nothing of the sudden change in his vocal cords. Instead, a look of sympathetic understanding flits over his face. "I'm sorry - I'm Dr. Kenneth. You're currently in the Children's Ward of the Royal London Hospital, and have been unconscious here for two weeks, since the day you were brought in."

His forehead creases, eyes darting about in confusion. _Children's Ward?_ In _London?_ How did he get here? Why was he put amongst _children_?

"It's December the 4th, in case you're wondering."

One day before his birthday?

 _He's lost two months since the Zero Requiem._ And yet they say he's only been unconscious for two _weeks._

The timeline doesn't tally.

He finally gets his jaw to move again. "What year is it?

Dr. Kenneth shoots him a strange look before answering. "1937."

.

.

.

"Are you alright, son?"

He takes in a steadying breath, brushing his fingers against his corneas in prep to geass the doctor.

"I'm just a bit... disoriented, forgive me."

To his dismay, there are _no_ contacts in his eyes. He searches frantically for a reflective surface in the ward.

The polished marble floor. It's shiny enough to tell. But when he looks down...

No glowing geass sigils. Just. Pure violet.

It comes as a slap in the face. If he's been deaged and sent to the past as he suspects, then there's a very high chance that his geass has been taken away as well.

"I'm sorry that I have to ask this in your befuddled state but - what's your name, child?"

His stomach churns at the question. The man - the doctor - does not recognize him, and he's just called him ' _child'._

Does it even matter anymore?

Everything he's worked for - the _Zero Requiem…_ has been erased.

Can this be an elaborate ruse?

 _Highly unlikely._ Considering the proof of his shrunken physique. Even something as supernatural as geass or a Code cannot hope to achieve something as incongruous as this.

"Lelouch," he mutters, stoically.

The doctor doesn't flinch in fear. He merely jots the name down on a clipboard. "Surname?"

"Lamperouge."

A raise of eyebrows. "Do you come from France by any chance?"

He looks away, deciding to play the vulnerable _child._ "I… I don't remember."

"But you remember your name?"

Fake tears pool in his eyes as he meets the doctor's gaze. "Only that, and…" He pulls his knees up to hug on the bed, trembling slightly. "The blood…" A haunted look plagues him. "And the storm of bullets. The entire house was destroyed; they came in the night and just fired away at my mum… my sister… my _dad…_ "

A semi-truth, manipulated to fit his predicament.

"I was _so_ scared, and helpless to do anything to save them. All I could do was keep on running… to get as far away as possible from those… _terrorists_ … then-" He frowns a bit. "- _blank_. I'm not sure what happened after that. Or anything _before_ the incident."

Dr. Kenneth nods gravely at his tale. "My condolences, for both your family's fate and your trauma-induced amnesia."

"They're _dead,_ " he whispers, shakily. He stares out of a window unseeingly, summoning back his grief from losing Shirley, Euphie and even Nunnally for a month, further cementing his act. " _All of them._ And it's all _my_ fault."

Dr. Kenneth's eyes widen at that and narrow back immediately. "No. Don't fault yourself for the crimes of others, Lelouch. We live in dire times; the very earth we stand on now is blighted by war. There isn't much we can do but pray for the best."

He remains silent, choosing to close his eyes to block out the 'pain'.

They run a few tests on him before letting him run free to the bathroom.

 **.※.**

The first thing he does upon his temporary liberation is to look into a mirror.

So it's true. He's no longer eighteen.

He's _ten._

Shrunken to his form upon his first stay in Japan.

He no longer holds the tall, commanding figure of a king.

No. For now, he is a mere _child._

 **.※.**

The next thing he does is search high and low for a newspaper of the latest issue.

He's forced to charm a man in the hospital cafeteria into lending him one he's in the middle of reading. There really isn't much resistance, mostly due to the fact that the older man finds it terribly _cute_ that a boy his age would be so passionate about current affairs.

Ignoring the man's cooing (god, he's bloody _ten-years-old,_ not _five_ ), which he finds a _tad_ bit infuriating, he studies the cover, indeed confirming the date to be Saturday, the 4th of December 1937.

He flips through the pages, finding reports on the events of the latest exploits of the German army and the unrest brewing at the heart of London… _Hitler._

But absolutely _no_ mentions of Britannia.

If he's in the E.U. now… hmm.

 _Who is this_ Hitler?

Again, the timeline does not tally.

Unless his historical knowledge of the world is severely lacking… which he adamantly insists that he's mastered during his time at the Aries Villa...

He will have to consider the possibility of being transported to an alternate dimension.

 **.※.**

The older man tells him that he can have the paper to himself, if he wants. So he takes it, thanking him profusely, and brings it back to his ward to study further.

As he's reading, Dr. Kenneth peeps over the paper with an amused smile. "Rarely do I see children your age take such an interest in worldly happenings."

He glances over it to where the man is standing, deciding to fold it up and set it aside. "I find it… _stimulating._ Gives me a better idea of what's going on after being condemned to a big memory gap."

The doctor's smile falters. "I see."

Lelouch looks at him expectantly.

He clears his throat. "That brings me to what I want to say - your case of amnesia is… unusual. From the tests we've conducted on you, it's safe to say that you haven't sustained any lasting damage in your cerebrum or vital organs. However, it's strange that you should only remember the event of the traumatic incident _itself_ and forget everything else. Normally, it works in _reverse_ , by blocking out the _source_ of trauma."

He continues to stare at the doctor through hooded eyes.

"But that is not to say that your condition is _unheard of._ "

And so the doctor spends the next ten minutes telling him of possible ways to regain his nonexistent memories.

 **.※.**

"We've finally found you a place to stay."

He sits up at that. "Where?"

"It's an orphanage in London, owned by a lady named Mrs. Cole."

His eyebrows furrow. "An orphanage?"

Of course. He's but a child whose parents are both dead. Where else would he go?

"Indeed. It's called Wool's."

But he can't seem to quell the dread that settles in his gut.

 **.※.**

" _Well then. You've always been quite the snake, haven't ya, Lelouch?"_

" _Wha-"_

" _Azrael,_ not _at your service."_

 _Twin orbs of acid-green glow back eerily at him. A blanket of silver materializes in the dark._

" _That forked-tongue of yours. It's_ more _than earned you the ability."_

" _I don't understand. Why am I here?"_

 _A velvety chuckle. "For my own amusement, of course."_

 **.※.**

Tom Marvolo Riddle finds himself curious and displeased at the same time.

Mrs. Cole tells him that he will be having a new roommate.

A nasty smile curves his lips.

 _How long before the boy becomes too frightened of him?_

What he _doesn't_ expect is an adult in a child's body. Perhaps he gives this boy too much credit.

When Mrs. Cole introduces the new orphan to Tom, he closely watches every reaction from him: deep violet eyes that hold his gaze for too long before glancing away in apathy.

"Hello, Tom," he says, politely. Almost as though he's doing this simply out of duty and not pleasure.

Interesting. He's definitely not alone, as Tom is _less_ than thrilled at the prospect at having a _new_ pest in their midst.

But the boy's _name_ fascinates him even further. It bears an air of sophistication, an exotic combination of two syllables that makes his own revolting name pale in comparison.

"Hello - _Lelouch_ ," says Tom.

 _Lelouch_ deigns to lock gazes with him again at his strange enunciation. The boy tilts his head in consideration, as though to solve a puzzle that's just made itself known.

 _No one's_ ever _dared to meet his eyes as frequently and intensely as this boy has. Not even the adults._

"How about you show Lelouch to your room now, Tom?" He would be a fool to think that was a question, and not an order. "It's getting rather late, and I'm sure he's exhausted from his ordeal at the hospital. There should already be a sleeping bag shifted into your room by the assistants for him sleep in - they'll be bringing in a proper bed tomorrow morning."

 _Oh? So they intend for this to be a_ permanent _arrangement?_

 _We'll see about that, shall we?_

Lelouch bids the doctor farewell, receiving a good-natured pat to the back and a rather sad smile from the older man. Mrs. Cole and the doctor then leave them both to their own devices.

When he picks up a small brown rucksack from the table, Tom realizes that Lelouch doesn't have that many belongings to potentially claim for himself. A little disappointing, so he chooses something else to divert his attention to.

It's rather ill-fitting - he has to admit - the way the boy carries himself as he walks. His strides are too confident, his stance is too relaxed. Overall, the sort of calmness he's projecting alludes to that of an older person - one with miles of experience and a deeper maturity that far surpasses what he's seen from Mrs. Cole or the Church Pastor on Sundays.

Certainly not for one who's allegedly _ten-years-old_ from what he's overheard from the staff.

But it seems Lelouch refuses to make conversation with Tom as he steers them to _his_ dorm. Yes. It'll be a long while before he'll be inclined to call it _theirs._

Tom has no qualms about _no-conversation_ part. He's always hated the incessant whining from the other children in the orphanage. Some silence will do him plenty of good.

He wonders though - _who will be the first to break it?_

 **.※.**

It turns out to be neither of them, but in fact, _Nagini_ who breaks the silence.

Tom wakes up later that night to find her uncoiled beside his bed, hissing animatedly to Lelouch on the floor.

" **...so you hail from a distant land, pig child?"**

Lelouch, on the other hand, looks extremely unsettled by the snake, but not fearful. He glances up at Tom from his sleeping bag, with an arched eyebrow. "I take… that she belongs to you?"

How... _unexpected_. Every reaction he's gotten from Nagini's revealed presence was to go hysterical and scream the entire place down - even from _Billy Stubbs_ and his little gang of bullies.

"She's quite an interesting character… for a snake," Lelouch admits, awkwardly.

And there's _this._ This strange somersault in character from the new boy.

But first.

" _You can speak to snakes too?"_

 **.※.**

"That's _my_ table you're sitting at."

Lelouch glances up from his meal, unimpressed by the accusation. "This is _orphanage_ property, in case you weren't aware. _Everyone_ here is granted _equal_ rights to choose wherever they should wish to sit."

Whispers break out from the tables around them.

Ahh. So Tom Riddle's a prominent figure not to be defied in their childish hierarchy.

Not that he cares anyway.

He continues to chew on the meager cheese and bread they've been given that morning. Truth be told, all of it tastes like ash in his mouth, after his lavish lifestyle as Emperor.

But he's grateful he even _has_ _anything_ to eat in this dreary orphanage today.

 _Because_ _he_ _should very well be dead and rotting in Hell right now._

The glare that Tom sends his way is _vicious_ , to say the least. But he's seen his share of vicious glares in his experience - mostly from Cornelia and Kallen, of course.

It'll have to take _more_ than that to scare him out of his wits.

His conversation with the snake the previous night has proven to be most enlightening to him. He gathers that it's the new 'ability' that the strange silver-cloaked figure - _Azrael,_ spoke to him about in his dream. However, it's also earned him the unnecessary attention from this Riddle boy due to their… _shared talents._

Lelouch supposes that it's also because of _Nagini_ that Tom begrudgingly plonks himself down on the seat opposite Lelouch. A minor truce of sorts - simply because Tom finds him too _fascinating_ to be 'disposed of'. Or else, he suspects there would've been a slightly more _heated_ confrontation between them.

Lelouch won't continue to let this little boy delude himself into thinking he has more power over him.

It's laughable.

But maybe he should be more empathetic. After all, he _did_ subjugate the entire world at a tender age of _eighteen_.

The noisy gawking from their fellow orphans isn't in the _least_ bit discreet.

It takes his impatient throat-clearing to make them swivel their heads back to their respective meals.

Riddle is still glaring sourly at him, seeming to find Lelouch a more interesting subject to focus on than his breakfast.

He shrugs indifferently. "Bon apetit."

 **.※.**

" **He and you are like two sides of the same coin."**

Tom scowls at the comparison. " **What are you talking about?"**

" **You are both so painfully similar that it hurts to watch."**

He turns back to the page he was reading. " **Explain yourself more clearly, Nagini, and I'll give you something more satisfying to eat than the kitchen rats."**

" **Pig child, how can you be so blind?"**

 **.※.**

It's snowing outside as he stands in the garden of the foster home.

Intricate patterns of ice float weightlessly downwards from the pure white sky above.

Lelouch stares skyward, breathing in the frigid air. It keeps him awake; it keeps him _going._ It acts as a reminder of sorts, that he's had a different life before this, with people he's loved; in his mind's eye, flowing emerald hair flaps in the cold wind, golden eyes smiling sadly at him.

" _...Happy Birthday, Lelouch."_

"Why are you out here?"

His reverie shatters.

He turns his head to source of the accusing voice. "Riddle."

 **.※.**

"Riddle."

Tom's eyes narrow at the sudden preference for his surname.

He involuntarily lets out a shuddering breath, creating a white mist before him.

God, it's _freezing_.

"You didn't answer my question."

 _Why is_ he _out here?_

Really, if it wasn't for Nagini's cryptic chattering…

He takes in the glittering spots of ivory on the boy's wind-ruffled hair, a stark contrast against the lustrous ebony. For some reason, it lends him a more human and youthful look, dispelling the impeccable image that he's managed to sell to the majority of the orphanage residents in his short stay here.

"Is it so wrong to admire the beauty of nature?" Those violet eyes bore into his again, and Tom feels as though his soul has been stripped bare to be scrutinized closely.

"There is _no_ beauty in the harsh winters of London," Tom replies, coolly. "Snow becomes an unsightly phenomenon as it melts into muddied pools of grey. Disgusting, I would say, when people are blemish the pathways with their dirty footprints. The freezing air bites into our bones as we sleep in the night and work in the day, all the more torturous for those without sufficient layers."

It goes even deeper than that - further tied to bitter memories of being locked out of the orphanage in the cold nights for his _freakishness._ Of being beaten to a pulp by the meaner children, his blood staining the pristine snow a brilliant scarlet for the whole orphanage to see - _and no one caring about it in the slightest._

Lelouch puts his hands into the pockets of his fur-coat, a faint smile gracing his lips.

"How pessimistic."

Lelouch turns away, back to looking up at the sky again. "Tell me, Riddle. Do you know why snow is white?"

He looks… he sounds almost wistful when he asks that.

Tom turns the question over in his head, considering if it's even worth answering. "Snow reflects all colour wavelengths of visible light at equal distributions, thus combining all seven colours of the rainbow to create a luminescence of white."

Lelouch blinks, looking slightly amused at that. "I see you're well-read in your physics."

Perhaps this boy was hoping to hear a more _philosophical_ answer?

"It is the stain of humanity that tarnishes the beauty of winter, Riddle. Snow, for example, in its pristine form, is lovely and pure as it falls from the sky.

"It's only when it reaches the earth when the it turns ugly from the taint of humanity's worst traits; being trudged upon by feet of men, without any regard for its wellbeing."

Lelouch's smile disappears after a while, a dark look entering those violet orbs. "That is not to say that all humans are a plague to be purged of."

 **.※.**

It seems Lelouch's worst fears have proven to be false.

All it takes is a few 'accidental' orders here and there to Mrs. Cole and a few orphanage assistants, and he's free to do whatever he desires.

He still has his geass.

In both eyes, and activated on _will_.

"Where are you going?"

He glances at Riddle from the corner of his eye. "None of your business."

"You don't speak to me like that," Riddle murmurs, chillingly.

"Petulant child."

"You speak as though you're not one yourself," Riddle retorts.

"I'm most certainly not _petulant_. And I'm _hardly_ a _child._ " _If you only knew the truth…_

"How is it _you_ got permission to go out when everyone _else_ has tried and failed over the years?" demands Riddle, a tad bitterly.

"I'm simply more adorable, I suppose," he says, dispassionately.

When he makes his way to the door, Tom grabs his own coat as though to follow him out.

Sighing exasperatedly, he turns to Riddle. "You're not following me."

" _Yes, I am."_

For a moment, amethyst meets emerald in a furious battle of wills.

It's rather reminiscent, he has to admit, of his first few days at the Kururugi Shrine. Staring down Suzaku each day, and not being able to get along with him until Nunnally came along as peacemaker.

The more he looks, the more he's seeing a ghost of Suzaku standing before him. From those belligerent gem-green eyes down to the soft, dark waves parted neatly to the side.

But Riddle is no Suzaku. He knows this. There is a darker streak in him that he's seen in only one other person:-

Himself.

Lelouch narrows his eyes, though making sure they never leave the other's. It seems he will have to put his more _perilous_ activities on hold. "Fine. As long you don't make yourself a hindrance."

 **.※.**

Lelouch brings them both to the local library.

It pays to be more knowledgeable of your whereabouts. The haven of information also better arms him for any future ventures in the political world.

After much research there, he's come to a few conclusions.

The Holy Empire of Britannia never once existed. The closest thing that resembles it is the British Empire that plants its roots now along key points in the world in the 19th and 20th century.

Mainland Britannia is now called America.

And there is no Ascension Throne Britannia calendar.

Advancement of technology in this world is terribly slow; Knightmares do not exist, and neither does Sakuradite.

There is a war brewing up now. One that will soon succeed another more recent; the World Wars.

Germany is a formidable force, and _Hitler_...

He likes to think that the Führer's methods are very different from his own. For one, Lelouch hasn't committed any form of genocide during his reign as Emperor.

He looks up from his books and newspaper articles to where Riddle is browsing the shelves in most rapture.

"I suppose you're passionate about books, Riddle?"

Piercing green eyes flick towards his own in silent contemplation.

Really, if he didn't know better, he would think he's looking at _another_ boy with the presence of an adult.

Riddle is… unique, to be truthful. He certainly has a wider range of vocabulary than the average ten-year-old in Wool's.

"I've never been exposed to this many at once," Riddle confesses, quietly.

"And what do you think of them now?" he continues, making idle conversation.

Riddle shifts his attention back to the endless rows of tomes. His reply is soft, but for some reason, it's powerful enough to pervade the voiding silence in the entire library.

"Knowledge is power."

 **.※.**

Lelouch's residence in Tom's room turns out to be more permanent than initially expected.

He isn't like the other children.

He isn't _afraid_ of Tom.

But most of all, he doesn't bat an eye at Tom's _unique abilities_.

It's out of sheer boredom that Tom finally decides to reveal his unnaturalness. He's finished the book he's just borrowed from the town library, and the idea of re-reading the rest of the books he's collected over the years strikes him as rather insipid.

Tom sits by the frosted window of his dorm, fiddling with the eight big stones he's collected during the summer for his treasure trove.

Eight is considered to be a number of fortune and prosperity in oriental culture.

But somehow. It doesn't fit for Tom.

So he picks a stone up and wills it on fire, the rocky edges glowing a bright red as it suddenly combusts in his small palm.

He allows it to float from his hand, slowly levitating the burning stone towards a preoccupied Lelouch.

Lelouch's head jerks up abruptly from the newspaper he's reading at the sight of a floating, _flaming_ rock in front of his face.

At first, he fully expects the purple-eyed boy to hurl hateful aspersions at him such as _freak_ or _devil_ or even _demon._

But he should've known better.

Instead, his roommate does something rather curious; Lelouch extracts a page from the newspaper he's been perusing (the job advertisements section, most likely), rolls it up into a thick paper wand, and gingerly jabs at the tiny fireball with it.

The flaming stone doesn't budge from its place, and the paper wand doesn't catch fire after a whole minute.

Lelouch stoically tilts his head sideways and casts the paper stick aside. This time, he tentatively places a hand just above the bolide, barely touching the ruby flames.

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise as he turns towards Tom. "It's not hot to touch."

For once, Tom's not quite sure how to reply; he's rather taken aback by the lack of negative reaction from Lelouch.

The raven-haired boy slowly takes the stone within his hands, gently turning it over to examine.

"It's like a cold fallen star."

And something _else_ happens.

His makeshift meteorite shines a brilliant azure before exploding into a million ice shards.

The ice shards remain suspended in the air, like snowflakes frozen upon mid fall. They coruscate in the pale evening light of their room, shimmering away akin to tiny stars in a low sky.

Tom stands up at this, eyes dilated in astonishment. He didn't mean for that to happen. He certainly didn't _feel_ the usual swell of power in his veins to create such a display. In fact…

He flicks his gaze towards Lelouch, who's pressed himself backwards against the wall during the fulmination.

"You… _You_ did that, didn't you?"

For a change, the boy actually looks _shaken_ , albeit only slightly.

"I… _think_ so."

Something akin to a budding joy fills the pit of Tom's chest. "You can make _things_ happen too," he breathes, with a certain wonderment.

He's not alone. He's not _abnormal._

Because he's just found someone _else_ who can make strange things happen just like _himself._

The icy dust falls to the floor in moist drops.

 _Seven_ works just fine.

 **.※.**

In the recent developments of his _newest_ ability, Lelouch and Tom's minor truce evolves into something more substantial. Lelouch wouldn't really call it _friendship_ as of yet.

But it seems like the _beginnings_ of one.

 **.※.**

Tom wakes up one night to find Lelouch's bed empty.

His lips twist into a scowl.

 **.※.**

When Sergeant Kenny Powell walks out of the police station at 1 in the morning at the end of his shift, he doesn't expect to find a small boy curled up by the roadside.

As he slowly approaches him, he can hear the poor child sobbing his heart out. The boy's dark hair is wet and matted, and his face is buried into his arms rested on his knees.

"Hey, kid. You alright? Watchadoin' out here this late?"

A sniff, before the boy shyly looks up at him. "I don't know the way home."

Kenny puts on a kind smile, and offers a hand to the boy. "Let me help you then. Do you-"

The boy's expression morphs into that of a smug one, his lips spreading over his teeth in a chilling smile. His eyes glow a dazzling scarlet and-

"Yes. You will help me. Now, _give me your gun._ "

A cool blanket of darkness envelops Kenny's mind at that, and he finds himself acquiescing without a word.

.

Kenny blinks out of his stupor.

A malfunctioning lamp post flickers back to life.

He's still standing outside the police station, on the dark and deserted pathway with no one else but himself. And he can't for the life of him remember why...

Huh. Weird.

He sets off home.

 **.※.**

"This isn't the place for snotty brats like _you_ , kid," spits the bouncer.

"Perhaps I can make you think otherwise." Lelouch aims his newly-acquired gun at the stocky man.

The bouncer looks flabbergasted as he raises his hands up. He lets out a short derisive laugh, before stepping cautiously to the side. "Alright, alright. Sheesh… Get out of my sight, little git."

He steps into the gambling den without further ado, keeping an eye out for anymore hindrances. All he has to conceal his identity is a long grey scarf wound around his face and head. Pathetic, if he's to be honest with himself, as his height will be _more_ than memorable enough for the hoodlums to keep track of.

Well. It's a good thing he has no intention of them remembering _anything_ that takes place tonight.

 **.※.**

The game of poker cannot quench his craving for a good game of chess. But it suffices for the night, when he manages to outplay the group of hooligans and win their opulent pool of bettings.

"This is a joke. _He bloody cheated!"_

" _Get the little bastard!"_

He's unperturbed by their threats and accusations, choosing to casually sling his bag of winnings over his shoulder. He's triumphed in this game fair and square. He knows it. _These_ people know it, but are simply in denial.

He finally lands his gaze on them, feeling his eyes burn scarlet.

"You will forget _everything_ that has transpired tonight, including the fact that you even had this portion of money to gamble with."

He does the same to the rest of the staff and clients, with minorly-altered instructions.

At least this way, he cannot be accused of illegally acquiring this money. Or rather, committing _theft_ for it.

He walks back to the orphanage.

 **.※.**

"You were gone last night," accuses Tom.

Lelouch rolls over to his side, shielding himself with a blanket.

"What were you up to?"

He grunts sleepily.

"You're not escaping this, Lelouch."

Tom rips the blanket away from him.

He hisses, and throws a bolster into Tom's face.

He receives a violent shaking from the irate boy, as Tom's fingers clamp around his body like irons.

Sending a well-aimed kick his way, Lelouch takes the opportunity to reclaim his bolster and blanket, and resume his slumber.

It was the wrong thing to do apparently.

But he really can't give a damn.

 **.※.**

Tom notices one thing after that strange night of Lelouch's disappearance.

Lelouch has bought a new chess set for himself.

Tom watches curiously from the corner of his eyes, how his roommate settles into a bizarre dance of moving pieces of both sides of the board by himself.

When Lelouch leaves the room for a while, Tom takes a moment to closely admire the polished woodcraft.

He has half a mind to steal it for himself.

But he hears footsteps making their way back to the dorm...

Maybe another day.

 **.※.**

Another thing Tom notices is the fact that Lelouch isolates the Black King piece and brings it everywhere he goes.

To their meals. To Church. To the library. To any place in the orphanage. To _anywhere._

The purple-eyed boy absentmindedly taps it on any surface in front of him as he thinks.

 _Tap. Tap. Tap._

"Can you stop it _already_?" grumbles Tom.

Lelouch pauses and blinks. "I'm sorry?"

"The _tapping."_ _It's getting bloody annoying._

"Oh." Lelouch glances down at the chess piece in his grasp, and back up at Tom. "Sorry."

He begins to twirl it in his fingers instead.

Tom groans in exasperation.

 **.※.**

"Do you know how to play chess, Tom?"

Tom stares at the chessboard. He doesn't like admitting that he doesn't know _anything._ It's equivalent to revealing a weakness of his for the enemy to exploit.

But… is Lelouch truly the enemy?

"No, actually."

"How surprising." Lelouch arches an eyebrow. "I would've thought someone like _you_ would know how to play."

Tom grits his teeth.

Lelouch sends him a pleasant smile without insulting him any further. "Would you like me to teach you? I gather someone like _you_ would also find it to be highly enjoyable - _stimulating_ to the brain."

Who is he to refuse an offer to fill in the gaps of his knowledge?

 **.※.**

They spend the whole of Christmas Eve and morning playing chess.

Tom has proven to be a quick learner, picking up the subtle nuances in manipulating the board to his will.

However, his White Army always falls to Lelouch's Black one. This angers him beyond understanding.

And this is why he insists on playing for long hours on end. He will not accept being defeated so badly each time.

 **.※.**

Lelouch's eyes study him silently for a while, glowing an eerie magenta in the dying firefight.

"Why don't you play Black this time around?"

 **.※.**

To Tom's immense satisfaction, he finally wins for the first time.

 **.※.**

"Well done. But I must stress on the fact that the colour of the army does not matter."

Tom glances up. "Doesn't it? It seems only the Black Army can win."

"No. It's purely in the art of your stratagem. Would you like me to prove you wrong?"

The idea of being defeated _again_ that day leaves a sour taste in Tom's mouth.

"Hmm. I think I'll give it a pass."

A knowing chuckle. "If you insist."

 **.※.**

Tom finally understands, why Lelouch is always with the Black King.

There is a certain _power_ that one feels whenever they hold it.

 _He's_ experienced it in their latest chess game.

And because of that, he decides that he will make the Black King one of his many trophies.

 **.※.**

Lelouch is furious when he learns of its disappearance.

"Give it back," he demands, coldly.

Tom raises his eyebrows innocently. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, you _know_ very well what I'm talking about."

Tom smirks at that. "I'm afraid not, you'll have to pardon me."

Lelouch bares his teeth in a rare break of composure.

Something hums incessantly from inside their cupboard wardrobe.

There's a small crash, and to his utter dismay, the chess piece comes flying out from his box of treasures and the cupboard itself.

It lands into Lelouch's palm.

"Should this event repeat itself, I will not be as forgiving," he vows, in his frigid ire.

 **.※.**

They don't speak to each other for days.

 **.※.**

"Happy Birthday, Tom."

Tom eyes the neatly-wrapped present warily.

"How did you know…"

"I asked around," Lelouch answers, simply. "I confess that I overreacted the other day, so I apologize. But that doesn't erase the fact that what you did was wrong."

Tom narrows his eyes. "What do you want then?" No one ever gives things out for _free_. Not to him anyway. There's always a catch to it, an _ulterior motive._

"Nothing. But your promise to keep your hands to your _own_ belongings."

"And if I refuse?"

"The present is still for you." Lelouch pushes the box over to him. "Thought I'd get you one regardless of the incident."

He hesitantly reaches for it, fingers feeling through the smooth silver wrapper and the dark green ribbon.

"Happy Birthday, again. I hope we can start afresh. It's terribly dull not having anyone play chess with me," says Lelouch, his eyes averted from his in obvious awkwardness.

Something warm settles in his heart. Like a ray of sunshine having been let through into the dark recesses of his cold dungeon. It spreads throughout his entire being, making his eyes burn…

No. Those are _not_ tears.

But. This is the first time in his eleven years of his life that _anyone's_ gotten him _anything._ To celebrate his _birthday_ , no less.

He opens the gift with as much care as possible. Lying within the box, he finds a thin book and…

A Black King.

He looks back up to Lelouch.

"It's a book on the psychology of prominent leaders in the world and…" Lelouch's lips twitch in amusement. "You seemed quite attached to the King, so I got you a singular piece for you to _treasure._ "

The words come out awkwardly - unrehearsed, as Tom's never actually said it to anyone else before. He's never been one to be heartfelt and sentimental, but he supposes this is one time appropriate enough to call for exceptions.

"Thank you… Lelouch."

 **.※.**

Their relationship greatly improves over the months since Tom's birthday.

Lelouch struggles to find an answer as to why he's stuck in his current predicament. But so far, his luck proves to be rotten in that aspect.

It's on a nice summer day in August 1938 when a strange old man visits them both.

"Tom? Lelouch? You have a visitor," calls out Mrs. Cole.

He has a magnificent beard and mane, auburn like the red leaves of autumn.

"Hello, Tom." He lands his gaze on Lelouch.

"Hello, Lelouch."

 **...**

 **A/N: Bloody hell.** ** _I should be freaking studying for exams now._** **My** ** _The_** **Finals are in like... 13 days ahahaha...** **** **But I really couldn't get this idea to stop distracting me. This fic was kinda inspired by prone2dementia's Juxtaposition. As usual, I don't really find my writing to be all that impressive. But yeah. Hope it's bearable enough. Thanks for reading!**


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